


To Him Who Asks

by rocketpool



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, because sometimes you hurt your characters, cross-posted from LJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-21
Updated: 2008-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketpool/pseuds/rocketpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the end is the beginning.  Sometimes all you need to do is ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Him Who Asks

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written Spn fic; I'm glad my muse hasn't abandoned me. Spoilers no farther than 4.01, but takes place at some point in the future. Comments and criticism are love - please love me?

 

The ground trembles in the dark. It isn't night, but Dean can't tell the difference anymore, doesn't care. He pulls Sam's limp form closer, until he can feel his brother's shallow breathing against his neck. Curls over him protectively, the way they were at the beginning. It's only fitting that they're like this at the end, burning out at last in brilliant glory, side by side and fighting til the end.

The end. Dean never pictured it this way. Not when Dad died. Not when Sam died. Not when Lilith pulled aside the door and unleashed the hounds.

At least maybe this time, maybe _this time_ he's saved his brother. Maybe at last Sam will have peace. Sam will have safe. It's not this life, but it's better than nothing.

Dean dares to hope, and doesn't think about what waits for him. What it means to save his brother and damn the world.

_It doesn't have to be this way._ The whisper comes over the wind, so still and small Dean almost misses it amongst the scrabbling howls of the next wave of demons. _It need not be the end. You have but to ask._

He's so tired, now, here at the end as he burns the last of his strength to ensure Sammy doesn't die alone. Doesn't die with _them_.

Dean closes his eyes. He tries to speak, tries and fails. The air's so hot and full of smoke it's hard enough just to breathe. But maybe, just this once, it's enough to want. A hand settles on his shoulder, cool and familiar like the sound of fluttering wings. He hasn't the strength to recoil, but manages to look up.

And sees Castiel gazing down, a comforting smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He glows amongst the shadows, barely contained light growing brighter as he steps forward to stand between them and the oncoming horde. There's a sword in one hand; its blade reflects his light, amplifies it. Castiel raises it to the ready.

The demons bear down on him without hesitation. Not so much as a hair slips past the angel.

Dean watches, exhaustion and awe rooting him in place. His vision is clouded by blood and ash, and yet... When the sword arcs through the air, it burns with white hot flames. Dean thinks that in the flash of steel he catches glimpses of wings. Not the translucent black pair he remembers but six, broad and golden white – one pair shields Castiel's face, another his feet (which in this double vision do not touch the ground), and the last spread impossibly wide, shielding Dean and Sam.

The full strength of the infernal troops rail against him now, black smoke and black eyes repelled only to roil back and strike again. Only to fall under the judgment of his blade. Until, in a lightning bright flash, the first set of wings unfold. Until Castiel opens his mouth to speak.

Dean clutches Sam closer and covers his brother's ears as best he can. The sonic boom-shriek and all its agony never come. Dean can hear it now, clear and perfect even if he can't understand the words. Castiel is singing. Dean hunches closer over Sam (they're not worthy of this), vaguely aware that the world still flexes and shudders at the sound of this voice. At the sound of this chorus.

At last there is silence. When Dean opens his eyes, it's still dark. But the moon shines unhindered overhead, and his breath comes easily. There's no signs of the demons, not even the corpses of the people they stole. There's no sign of Castiel either.

Sam is still alive in his arms, the way they were that night when at last the fire burned low.

Dean has never been one to pray. But maybe, just this once, he has something to be properly grateful for.


End file.
